Bad Things Happen

Yesterday morning I was fixating.  The first thing I was fixating on was the fact that the weather, after several days of heavy snowfall, had broken, and I needed to get to town to get groceries and some other essentials. In order to get to town and back before dark I needed to do much shoveling, dressing of kids, warming of car, etc. etc.  The second thing I was fixating on was a conversation my children and I had been exposed to the day before, about how boys fight and get over it, but girls are devious and manipulative and mean and learn it from their mothers.  I was thinking about how much I had wanted to protect my daughters from these most unfortunate words.*

And in the midst of my fixating I heard the news about the school shootings in Connecticut.  And then I didn't care that much about the other two things. Because who cares anymore?  20 little kids, ages 6 and 7, are dead.  And yes, I know, I know - children are dying everyday, all over the world and we go on as if it is nothing.  I know we, as a society, demonstrate gross indifference to child labour, poverty, abuse, murder, when it is in the context of  "far away" and "not affecting my daily life."  I know all that, and yes, I understand  the reason I (and many like me) are so destroyed by the thought of this shooting and not about the other stuff that happens everyday all over the world is because this is something to which we can directly relate.  These parents sent their babies to school, and a bad guy came to the school and shot them dead.  This could be us, this could be me. I am right there.

I started the drive to town yesterday morning listening to CBC radio, as usual, but the girls said something they have never said before.  They said: "No, mommy, turn it off."  So I turned it off and didn't listen to the half-hourly news reports that would have informed me of  "what we know so far."  Instead, the girls and I pointed to the trees, and the horses we passed, and we talked about what we saw, and we sang about monkeys falling off beds and reindeer, and Santa.

We had a nice day in town, and when I came home I read all the comments on Facebook about what had happened.  I put away groceries.  I cooked dinner.  We ate dinner.  We watched a show about a kid with a purple crayon.  We had a bath.  And then the girls went to play by themselves in the bedroom and I opened my laptop and let myself read the news and sob.

I didn't say "How does something like this happen?" because it is a meaningless question.  Crazy people go get guns and use them to shoot people.  It happens.  We've seen it happen again and again.  And after it happens we analyze the shit out of the how and whys and who is to blames. (When I was in my early 20s the Montreal Massacre happened and for months afterward the debate raged on and on about whether it was a violence against women issue or a random act  of violence issue.  Are you kidding me?  A guy armed to the teeth walked into a classroom, released the men, shot the women, and left a manifesto about hating women.  I think we can close the case on that debate.)

I didn't obsess about crazy US gun control policy, or how mentally ill people are left to navigate the world with little support, or how we exist in a culture that glamourizes violence to the point that we hardly even notice it anymore. I was too busy thinking about the parents, and how they will ever be able to get through this.

I did have a Facebook chat with my friend who has two small children as well, and we discussed how hard it is, in the face of something like this, to NOT just start thinking about raising your children in a fortress surrounded by a moat full of sharks.  But we can't.  We have to let our kids have lives, even if it means sending them off to school when, every so often, horrid things happen at schools.

And I did let myself focus on the love that everyone was expressing for a community of people we have never met in a place we have never been.  Because, as awful as these things are, they make us stop and put away the little, daily fixations, and look to one another and say: "I don't know you, but I know you.  And I can't love you, because I don't even know you, but I love you.  And I can't possibly know what you are going through, but I know that you are going through it, and it means something that your unimaginable loss is causing a mom far, far away to think of nothing but you."


* One day I will write a post about Tina Fey (who is the undisputed goddess of all things), and how important I think "Mean Girls" is, and how important the message is and was, but how the importance of Ms. Fey's  important message has been (like PMS) twisted into a blanket stereotype that does so much more harm than good.  But that's a story for another day.

Acting, Learning and Getting Merry like Christmas

It's been too long since I've posted, and once again I do not have a specific idea spinning to hang a tidy essay on, so I'll just freelance some ideas, shall I?

I am doing a short run of one of my solo shows at the Site right now, and I went through my usual process during my rehearsal period - first I felt dread, then fear, and then I yelled at my husband for booking me when he knows full well that I hate, hate, hate doing these things. Then I did the first show and remembered how fun it is to perform and couldn't wait to get back again the next day.  My process drives J insane as he is a natural performer and does not go through the same agony that I do at the thought of getting up in front of people.  I can't wait to write, and paint, and direct, all manner of solo or behind the scenes creative endeavors, but performing scares the crap out of me every time.  And I am an actor.  Dr. Freud...care to weigh in?

I am having a tough mom dilemma right now in that, here in our tiny Town, there is a very small group of parents.  The preschooler parents have tried to run a play group for a couple of years, and my girls love going.  However, there is something I am having trouble with (I had written out details, but have subsequently deleted as too many people who know me read my blog now, and it's not fair to work out my shit on here in that way - but basically something happened that I am uncomfortable with - and it made me feel like my kids needed me to protect them.)  Anyway, suffice to say, I was eventually so annoyed by this situation that I pulled my kids from the play group last week (major stress as I know how much the girls love to play with the other kids), and am contemplating taking them out for good.  Ugh - such a tough decision.  And such a classic parent conundrum - do I remove my kids from a situation they love, because I have grown uncomfortable with it?  And all of this got me thinking about the girls' future options.

So now that I have deleted out the details, the next few paragraphs will make less sense, but here goes: a wise friend of mine said something like this to me:  "If you look for bad behaviour in children, you will find it, and if you look for beauty and creativity, you will also find it - often in the same behaviour."  Isn't that awesome?  Isn't that re-framing in the most perfect way?  I hope I have shown, so far in this blog, that I am a person who owns right up to my flaws, and who is pretty willing to sing my own praises as well.  Well here is something I know I do that I like about myself - I always see the beauty in other people's children.  I always see a running laughing child as a thing of sheer joy, and not a behaviour waiting to be "corrected."  I think little kids are so much better than adults - freer, more abstract, so much more divine.  And as my kids near school age I have been hit with a realization I did not see coming - I think school and organized education and blind adherence to the mantra that structure and routine are ALWAYS the right choices are wrecking kids and turning them into the mass of unhappy adults walking around today.  A couple of my friends are engaged in a movement called "unschooling".  I was sent some links and opened the literature and it was like the damn clouds parted and a choir of angels started singing just for me.  I hate the idea of my kids going to school.  I hate the idea of behaviour that I honestly, honestly adore becoming "bad" the moment they walk into a classroom.  I hate the idea that passivity is to be emulated and a child who naturally engages, and questions, and jumps in with both feet needs to be taught not to sing, not to dance, not to question.  So, unschooling is (sorry for all of you unschoolers, because I'm not sure if this is right, but it is my take on it) basically home schooling but in such a way that allows the child to lead the way, to discover their bliss early in life, to have the parent watch and gently guide according to the natural inclinations of the learner.  When I did my Masters degree I studied the teachings of a ground breaking drama based educator called Dorothy Heathcote, and have now woven her methods into my work.  A few years ago, while she was still alive, I had the amazing opportunity of watching her teach.  She was so damn brave.  She walks into a classroom with a general idea of what needs to be learned, and she trusts that, through drama, the kids will get there (and will without question make hundreds of other discoveries along the way, and will learn a bit more about what it means to be human).  I think Heathcote was an unschooler before there was a word for it.  She believed in the children, and in their wholeness, and did not see them as adults in training.  So that's where I am right now with the idea of sending my kids off to be "educated."  I want them to be the people they want to be, not the people they are forced to be.

What else?...

Oh, here is a huge thing.  My beloved J is a little bit sick.  Well, in a way he is a lot sick, but in a way it is a good thing.  He had some news from the doctor about his health, and he does have a serious condition that, with some very big lifestyle changes, can probably be reversed.  So we are going to have to pull up our socks around here and genuinely commit to good food, rest, less stress, less saying "yes" to every contract that comes up, less consumption of bad stuff.  In a way, getting the news was like the big excuse we needed from the universe to do what we really want to do anyway - pull back and spend way more time with our girls.

It's the Christmas season and I am a complete Christmas nerd and it's true what they say - having kids brings back all the magic of this season.  My kids are drunk with it - every night is "Christmas Eve." every shiny, sparkly bauble is "magic".  It's bliss to feel the wonder of it all again.  And our decision to keep them away from network television means that our girls really have no association of Christmas with mass consumption.  When I asked what they want from Santa at first they couldn't think of anything, and then they said "toys and paint." Toys and paint.  Not some specific electronic or princessy marketed in your face until you want to puke thing.  Just toys and paint.  God I love those two.  

Those are a few things that have been on my mind.

Scary Moment Cake

All parents worry about their children being ripped from their lives.  Even my most relaxed parent friends have that little black thought lurking somewhere in their heads, not too far from the surface.  What if something happens? What if they go away from me?

When the girls were about 6 months old I had a vivid dream that I had given O to a trusted friend who was carrying her in her car seat.  We were heading to a fringe festival play, and I had Z while my friend was somewhere else with O, but I knew we would all meet up at the theatre.  Once I had the tickets I went in to find my friend and there she was, but she did not have O.  When questioned the friend told me that she had just put O, and the car seat, "over with the coats".  I hurried over to the place where audience members had been tossing their coats in a pile, and O was not there.  She wasn't anywhere.  In the dream I frantically searched for my baby, told anyone who would listen that she was missing, and eventually the whole cast of the dream was searching, organizing candlelight vigils, etc. etc.  I woke up with my heart pounding so hard I could almost see it, jumped up, looked around and saw O right there, sleeping peacefully beside her dad.  The flood of relief was crazy. In my lifetime I have never known a comparable feeling of thankfulness.  It was a dream!  She wasn't gone.  She was right there.  Right there.

When I was pregnant with the girls I was part of another fear turned to relief moment.  I was working as a performer/storyteller at our provincial museum.  I decided to take my break in one of the two main lobbies.  I was sitting in a leather chair, absent-mindedly watching the crowds, when I noticed two moms walking across the big hall with all their kids trailing behind.  The youngest of the group was a tiny girl who was probably between two and three years old. As the little girl toddled along she had her face in  one of the museum guide pamphlets, happily looking at a picture of a big wooly mammoth.  She did not see the rest of the group swerve to go look at a showcase of stuffed birds.  She just kept walking forward and had soon passed through the big doors into the other lobby and was swallowed up into the snaking line of people waiting to pay their admission.  And in two huge lobbies teeming with people, I was the only one who had seen this happen.  The mom turned, did a kid head count, and then I saw the panic hit hard.  The mom began to spin, scan, call.  In the space of a few seconds I saw all of it flood into that mom - abduction?  No, please no. I was far enough away that it took me a few moments to get over to her but I got there and just said: "She's over here."  The mom followed me to the door of the other lobby.  There was a sea of people in there, but in an instant I saw the little girl, face still in pamphlet, far across the room. She had quietly wandered through the crowd unnoticed.  "There!'  I pointed, "Do you see her, by the totem poles?"  The girl was at least 30 feet away from us.  The mom saw her baby and said: "Yes!  There she is!"  She rushed forward and then quickly glanced back and said: "Thank you!" and then I lost sight of both of them in the throngs.  That mom and I never saw one another again.  But I bet we remember one another, and I imagine I am a character in her story version of the event just as she is in mine.  Only in her version a giant pregnant woman in a Victorian costume appeared out of nowhere to point her to her lost child.

Yesterday J, the twins, and I did the epic drive from my parents' apartment back home to our Town.  This trip includes a ferry trip, so the entire journey, if you do it in one day, takes about 13 or 14 hours.  And we had to do it in one day as J had to work today.  The entire province was experiencing horrid weather, and the southern to central half, which includes this whole trip, was drenched in rain.  J took on all the driving, and it was pretty darn scary.  We were being pummeled with the kind of rain with which windshield wipers can barely compete.  We hit patches of thick fog and puddles that were really small lakes.  It was all pretty crazy, but there was one moment that kind of took the scary moment cake.

We stopped in a small town to gas up, and just as we had gotten ourselves back into the car and on to the highway J said:  "Jesus."  I looked ahead to see, through the murky, darkening, world, that an on coming semi was passing a car right in front of us.  This was on a double solid line.  The semi was bearing down hard and fast, in our lane, and it was going to hit us head on.  J steered over so that one wheel was on the shoulder and the other was in the grass.  The semi squeaked back into it's own lane about the moment we passed it.  If not for J we would probably all be dead today.  That fast.   After it was over J and I agreed that neither of us had even had enough time to get scared or freaked out, because it all happened so fast.  But afterwards, for a few moments, I allowed the "what ifs" to creep over me.  What if J hadn't been in superhero mode?  What if I'd been driving instead and wasn't as clear headed?  But my biggest, most horrible what if is always this - what if I survived but.... nope, can't even type the rest of that thought out.

I've been reading a couple of blogs lately from parents who have had to face, or are facing, this horrible question: how do I, how will I, how can I, survive this?  One blog is that of a woman whose son drowned, and the other is that of a dad whose two year old has ravaging leukemia.  So I know that people can and do get through.  But I admit freely that a huge part of my life right now is lived in fear of these two perfect baby girls somehow exiting my life.

We are home today, safe and sound.  All four of us.  But yesterday I did look this great parenting fear right in the face in the form of a giant truck grill.

Love your kids, devote yourselves to them, and remember that no matter how slow that car in front of you is going, it is never worth it to reckless pass and almost wipe out a small family.

The Keys to Freedom

It's been a bit of a week, in a bit of a month, in a bit of a year.

Oh I know, I know.  Everyone has it rough, and tough, and we all have problems and blah, blah, blah.  But here's the thing.  I'm only human, and humans can be superhuman, and humans can be less than human.  Right now I feel like I am a bit of both.

J is away on a business trip, and once again I am here, in our house, with MIL, her dog, and the twins.  So, for all intents and purposes I am the only functioning adult in the house.  And all the other four beings need something from me pretty much constantly.

Living in a teeny town is great, and in the summer season there is so much to do.  But now it is the off season, and the limitations of living in a teeny town with twin toddlers and a failing mom in law are magnified as, aside from yet ANOTHER walk outside, there is often nothing to do to keep everyone occupied.

MIL is failing fast, and the stress of that alone is enough to push me to teetering.  The girls need me more than ever when J is away, and right now, far too often, that neediness presents itself in the form of whining, which is like pouring acid on already frayed nerves.  I am so behind in paperwork that I have become phobic about even starting to deal with all the papers stuffed in my file cabinets.  The idea of the amount of stuff I need to do this winter to get set up for next spring is stalking my subconscious.  And to top it all off I'm running low on food.

There is a small grocery store here, but it has a limited selection and, of course, a bit of a mark up so the owners can have a viable business.  Thank goodness we have the store.  But I have a few mouths to feed and I cannot rely solely on the little store so my once weekly trips to the bigger town for a full grocery shop are imperative and, aside from the stress of having to repeatedly get two toddlers in and out of the car, the town trips are a way to get out of Dodge and take a deep breath and remember what it is like to be in a place with traffic lights and strangers and restaurants that open all day and malls (even if they are lame malls).

So a couple of days ago I got me and the girls all up, bathed, dressed and ready to go to town.  I was trying to be really quiet as I wanted to leave MIL at home this time to make the trip go more smoothly, and if I could sneak out I would be home before she was even up for the day.  I used the auto-starter to get the car going, and then got us all booted and mittened and coated up, and went to grab my keys.  And they weren't in the drawer and they weren't in my purse and after tearing the house apart and reassembling it I am pretty confident they have evaporated into thin air.

My keys are MIA.  I haven't needed them for a couple of weeks, so I haven't had the need to look for them.  They are always where they are supposed to be.  Except this time. My best guesses are: they fell out in the locked car and are on the floor and I can't get to them because the car is locked, OR the girls were playing with my purse, OR my MIL took them as she gets mixed up about this life and her old life sometimes and maybe thought they were hers, OR I dropped them somewhere outside.  And J is out of town with the only other set.  So I am stuck here.  Stuck.  So stuck.

In a remote town like this, car keys equal freedom.  I have misplaced my freedom.  Shit.

Last night J put a new key on the Greyhound and it will get here some time today so by the time someone drives in and gets it for me and then drives back it will be evening, and tomorrow I agreed to watch a friend's kids, and then it will be Wednesday by the time I can get to town and J will be coming home that day anyway.

So this is one of those weeks when our blissful living arrangements seem like a messed up idea.  This week I want easy access to daycare, and public transit, and a spa, and a restaurant, and all the stuff that the big city can offer.

So I was deep in this place of self pity when Hurricane Sandy hit the east coast and managed to cripple New York City.  And it struck me that for a brief moment the most important metropolis in the world had fewer amenities than our tiny town.  Wow.  That is amazing and really should provide some glimmer of comfort and make me appreciate my own life.  But right now I am too busy feeling all sorry for myself to be that big and logical.  I just want my damn keys.

Holding the Hands of the New York Mom

Last night, after the kids were asleep and I was in bed looking at google news, I read about the woman in New York's Upper West Side who came home yesterday to discover the horror of two of her children murdered by their nanny.  I haven't stopped thinking about it since.  I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about it.  I woke this morning thinking about it.

That mom is a million years away from me in so many ways - affluent, American, urban - but in the one way that matters most, we are exactly the same.  We are mothers who love our kids and spend the majority of our lives protecting them from harm and always feeling like we are falling short.  She is a mom, just like me.

Last night, before I shut down my laptop, I read some of the comments people were leaving on the internet about this tragic thing, and I was sickened to see how many people (other moms in particular) were quick to jump to the heartless conclusion that the mom was to blame.  If she had been home, they coldly posited, this never would've happened.  She should have been home, they typed, because "I stay at home and never let my kids out of my sight."

What is WRONG with you people?  What is wrong with you people who could be this judgmental and smug  about a woman who has just looked into the face of our biggest collective fear?  Where are your hearts?  Where is your soul?

This is "blame the victim" once again.  This is what we do.  We see someone endure a horrific crime and we immediately look for ways that it was the victim's fault, because as long as we can blame the victim we can comfort ourselves with the notion that we would NEVER make the same mistake that led to this tragedy.  If a woman is raped we can say: "she never should have been walking alone at night and wearing a short skirt.  I would never do that, therefore I will never be raped."   We can say: "I would never leave my kids with a nanny, therefore my kids will never be murdered by the nanny."  This is the coldest, meanest, and most small minded logic.  This mom did nothing wrong.  She left two of her children with her trusted nanny.  I am a stay at home mom these days, and every so often I get a sitter so I can do something on my own.  Am I asking for it?  My friends here in our small town sometimes ask if they can leave their kids with me so they can have a few hours to get stuff done.  Are they making a grievous error by doing so?  Of course not.

This is a gender issue with a twist.  This is a gender issue wherein women are judging another woman. This woman is a rich, stay at home mom therefore it is her duty to be home?  Bullshit.  The facts so far suggest this mom was out with her third child and left the other two with the nanny.  So there you go, judgers, she was still being a mom while she was out, she was just doing what we all do - she was making things a bit easier (a bit) by doing something with one kid and opting for care for the other two so she didn't have to juggle three kids while out in the world.  And if she had been out on her own getting a pedicure or seeing a film she would still be completely innocent.  A mom gets to take a parenting break when she needs one.  If I could afford a nanny I would have one just so I could be by myself for an hour or so every day.  That wouldn't make me a lesser woman or a bad mom.  A full time stay at home dad would be allowed to have a night out or a beer with a friend on occasion.  This woman has money, and she was choosing to use some of it to make the overwhelming job of parenting three children a bit easier by employing a nanny.    And I'm looking at YOU women who judge other women.  Stop it.  I don't know what I would do without the support of my mom friends, and this morning all I want to be is a friend to that woman in New York who is living our worst nightmare.  She is my sister, and although she does not know I exist and probably never will, today I am making it my business to defend her, to metaphorically hold her hand.  I can do absolutely nothing to ease this woman's unspeakable grief, but at least I can, from afar, say over and over: "It is not your fault.  It is in no way your fault."  It's a small thing.  It's a tiny thing.  But it's the thing I can do.

Another Can't Sleep Stupid Blog Meme to Make up for Lack of Real Update

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, and find line 4.  All books in my vicinity have fewer than 18 pages.
2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can, What can you touch? The side of the couch.
3. Before you started this survey, what were you doing? Surfing the net.
4. What is the last thing you watched on TV? Undeclared.  (that is the name of the show, not a description of my answer)
5. Without looking, guess what time it is 4:12 am.  
6. Now look at the clock. What is the actual time? 4am.
7. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? fridge running, clock ticking, husband snoring.
8. When did you last step outside? What were you doing? Around 8 last night went out to see the northern lights.
9. Did you dream last night? Yes.
10. Do you remember your dreams? Some of them.
11. When did you last laugh? Last night.
12. Do you remember why / at what? Recapping the day for my husband and laughing at my kids.
13. What is on the walls of the room you are in? Art, clock, curtains.
14. Seen anything weird lately? Dead bear.
15. What do you think of this quiz? It is typical.
16. What is the last film you saw? Ironman 2.
17. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live? I need to check out more places before I could make that decision.
18. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy? My freedom.
19. Tell me something about you that most people don't know. I know sign language.
20. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do? Stop sexism.
21. Do you like to dance? Not in public.
22. Would you ever consider living abroad? Yes,
23. Does your name make any interesting anagrams? I assume so.
24. Who made the last incoming call on your phone? I think it was my husband's uncle.
25. What is the last thing you downloaded onto your computer? pictures.
26. Last time you swam in a pool? April.
27. Type of music you like most? Folk, musical theatre, pop.
28. Type of music you dislike most? Hard rock.
29. Are you listening to music right now? no.
30. What color is your bedroom carpet? no carpet.
31. If you could change something about your home, without worry about expense or mess, what would you do? Re-do the downstairs.
32. What was the last thing you bought? groceries,
33. Have you ever ridden on a motorbike? no.
34. Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving? no.
35. Do you have a garden? ummm...kind of, a neglected one.
36. Do you really know all the words to your national anthem? what? of course.
37. What is the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning? what do I need to worry about today.
38. If you could eat lunch with one famous person, who would it be? David Letterman.
39. Who sent the last text message you received? Kara.
40. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Chintz and Co.
41. What time is bed time? Around 9pm.
42. Have you ever been in a beauty pageant? I just lol-ed.
43. How many tattoos do you have? none.
44. If you don't have any, have you ever thought of getting one? only kind of.
45. What did you do for your last birthday? worked. My mom made me a gluten free cake.
46. Do you carry a donor card? no.
47. Who was the last person you ate dinner with? kids.
48. Is the glass half empty or half full? vacillates. 
49. What's the farthest-away place you've been? Europe.
50. When's the last time you ate a homegrown tomato? Last week.
51. Have you ever won a trophy? yes.
52. Are you a good cook? marginal.
53. Do you know how to pump your own gas? one must.
54. If you could meet any one person (from history or currently alive), who would it be? Great, great, great grandparents.
55. Have you ever had to wear a uniform to school? no.
56. Do you touch-type? no.
57. What's under your bed? floor, sub-floor, .boards, insulation, basement ceiling, air, mom in law's suite, carpet, sub-floor, boards, crawl space, plastic, earth, rock, molten core, more dirt, China.
58. Do you believe in love at first sight? no.
59. Think fast, what do you like right now? peace of mind.
60. Where were you on Valentine's day? can't recall.
61. What time do you get up? when I wake up.
62. What was the name of your first pet? Ambrose.
63. Who is the second to last person to call you? Can't remember.
64. Is there anything going on this weekend? No.
65. How are you feeling right now? Okay,  Weary, a bit anxious,  Status quo.
66. What do you think about the most? Money, kids, getting organised.
67. What time do you get up in the morning? This is the same as question 61.
68. If you had A Big Win in the Lottery, how long would you wait to tell people?  I would only tell close family and friends, after a visit to a financial adviser.
69. Who would you tell first? My husband.
70. What is the last movie that you saw at the cinema? Footloose.
71. Do you sing in the shower? I rarely shower.  I bathe.
72. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Fuck off, another repeat question.
73. What do you do most when you are bored? Internet.
74. What do you do for a living? Act and write,
75. Do you love your job? I do.
76. What did you want to be when you grew up? Artist.
77. If you could have any job, what would you want to do/be? Artist and writer.
78. Which came first the chicken or the egg? Fuck off.
79. How many keys on your key ring? A few, soon to be 2.
80. Where would you retire to? Millionaire Acres.
81. What kind of car do you drive? Saturn.
82. What are your best physical features? Hair and hands.
83. What are your best characteristics? Wit and compassion and relentless creativity and a complete ability to not give a shit if people like me or not.
84. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation where would you go? Right now, Maui, because people I respect say it is awesome and because I have never once had a vacation for pleasure and relaxation.
85. What kind of books do you like to read? Grown up books.  They all seem like a distant memory.
86. Where would you want to retire to? Hello, question 80.  Nice to see you again.
87. What is your favorite time of the day? When I am asleep.
88. Where did you grow up? In a nice, mid-sized city.
89. How far away from your birthplace do you live now? About a 9 hour drive.
90. What are you reading now? This question.
91. Are you a morning person or a night owl? Morning.
92. Can you touch your nose with your tongue? no.
93. Can you close your eyes and raise your eyebrows? wtf?
94. Do you have pets? no.
95. How many rings before you answer the phone? again, wtf?
96. What is your best childhood memory? all pretty good.
97. What are some of the different jobs that you have had in your life? kid photographer, actor, writer.
98. Any new and exciting things that you would like to share? no.
99. What is most important in life? love.
100. What Inspires You? Capital Letters On Every Word! 

Worrier Princess

When J and I were freshly engaged my mom said this to him: "She's a little worrier, J.  And she always has been." She would know.

Anxiety plagues my family.  Everyone on both sides seems to give excessive attention to all the things that could go horribly wrong in every situation.  There are only a couple of blood relatives I can think of who do/did not over-worry.  My paternal grandfather was pretty chill, and he lived to be 101 years old.  My niece, T, does not seem to stress as much as the rest of us.  Other than those two, we are all complete neurotics.

I once saw a special on the making of "Seinfeld".  Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David were being interviewed about the initial success of the series, and their reactions to the network ordering more and more episodes.  Jerry thought it was great!  Larry was paralyzed with stress with each request for another script.  He could not imagine himself able to rise to the task.  I saw myself in Larry David.  I would never be the Jerry, shrugging and all "it'll work out."  I am the Larry.  I want success, but when it is staring me in the face I am all: "I will NEVER be able to pull this off!"

I think our world is set up for Larrys not Jerrys.  Our society had become so complicated, fast paced and success-centric that we are all balls of stress pretending not to be.  There is a good reason that so many of us are searching for a simpler life.  There is a reason why downsizing, growing our own food, and  greening up our lives, has become so trendy.  It is my belief that we all suspect, even if only subconsciously, that something has got to give and we want to be ready with our bunker in the mountains and firewood and home canned food when we officially strive ourselves into implosion.

Lately I have been really fixated on a single issue in my life.  I won't go into specifics, because, obviously, that would stress me out.  But I think about this issue a lot.  And when I think about it just logically, I know it is really not a big deal.  But tell that to the little demon in my brain.  That demon always needs one point of fixation on which to survive.  Kind of like how the plant in Little Shop of Horrors needed human blood.  Because if and when I stop fixating on this ONE thing, that demon will immediately start to feed on something else.

One of the kids recently woke me in the middle of the night.  After I'd settled the baby back down I couldn't get back to sleep myself and immediately began to stress about the thing I am currently stressing about.  So, to distract myself, I started to think about my pattern of stressing out.  Here's a few episodes I thought of:

The first panic attack I can clearly recall happened in grade one when I realized I'd forgotten to return a stack of flashcards I'd borrowed.  I slept in bunk beds with my sister, and I can so keenly remember lying in the top bunk, my six year old head hot with anxiety about what would become of a kid who committed such an atrocity as this.  I schemed about how I might get to school early, before the teacher, and sneak the cards onto her desk.  In the end, I, in a state of pure terror, walked up to her desk, handed my teacher the cards, and she said: "Oh, thank you."  And that was that.  It was all fine.

When I was fifteen I settled in to study for my French final exam, and without warning I suddenly was pounded with the manufactured realization that I had waited too long to cram and I would surely fail and that there was nothing I could do to stop it.  This fear came out of mid-air, landed on me and I became paralyzed.  I could not study.  I was so panic stricken that I just turned out the light,   crawled under the covers and waited until the morning when I could march to the gallows and get it over with.  The exam was fine, and I passed the course easily.

When I was in my 20s, at university, I realized that the student loan people had neglected to send me a specific form that was standard procedure then - a confirmation that the borrower had worked in the summer and was also contributing to his or her own education financially.  I called and asked for the form to be sent and it didn't arrive.  I called again.  And then, one evening, I convinced myself that the lack of this form meant that I would not be eligible for the breaks the government was then giving to students who completed their degrees in a timely manner, and I would have to pay back the entire amount, and consequently my entire adulthood was now blown. Cue flop sweat, shakes, and an overwhelming need to lie down.  Of course the form eventually arrived in the mail, I filled it out and all was well.

Oh I could go on.  But those examples probably paint the picture well enough.

This pattern of sudden, brutal anxiety has etched itself into my entire life.  I don't ALWAYS react to adversity with a panic attack.  In fact, many of the situations that actually should cause panic I handle quite well.  I'm really, really good at many of the really big things.  I have been called upon to help people who are at the end of their lives and have found the experience profound and rich and fascinating and in no way scary.  I stand up in front of crowds and speak and perform on a very regular basis.  I have zero problem with confrontation, yet I am anxious every day when I have to get the mail because I am sure there will be some sort of horrible message that will turn my life on its head.  And  sometimes, with little warning, I fixate on something totally random and spiral and feel like Larry David facing a blank page on a computer screen.

I have come to believe that this kind of anxiety disorder (is it a disorder?) is so much a part of me that it must be somehow connected to the parts of me that I really like - my creativity, my wit, my ability to recognize the beauty in the ugliness of life.   So I accept it and try to do what I am doing now - to remind myself that it is, indeed, a pattern.  If I can show myself that this is me, and this is my own special crazy and without it I would be a lesser version of myself, then I can usually talk myself down and get on with things.

I think Larry David is brilliant.  I love him.  And ever since I saw that interview I always think of him as a kindred spirit.  He knows he has something to say, and work to do, and as much as his demon makes him doubt himself, he gets on with it.  So I am okay with being a Larry.  Larrys grit their teeth and get the job done.

Neurotic and Themeless

I have been feeling, as a blog owner, remiss at not having posted in earnest in some time.  Thing is, I haven't really had any burning subject to address.  There is much on my mind, as usual, but nothing that is shaking itself down into a single, neat little theme.  So for now here are a few subjects I have crowding my neurotic brain:

1. I HATE dealing with money.  Hate it.  And now that I have a house and kids and a reasonable income I have to get over my lifelong aversion to learning how money REALLY works in this complicated society.  Ugh.  The very thought of it all makes me want to have a little lie down.

2. One of my absolute, rage inducing peeves right now is second hand parenting - when other people decide to chime in and parent my kids.  I try never to do this to other kids, but yesterday I had to bite my tongue hard when other parents made me feel inadequate.  Their kids do stuff I don't like, or agree with, and I have never ONCE had to gall to say anything to their child.  In fact, I go out of my way to be loving to other peoples' kids, no matter what they do.  Because I remember so keenly how deeply affected I was by the admonishments of grown ups who were not my parents.  So there you go...I'm better than you!  (Ha - that was said very much with tongue in cheek.)

3. Now that the season is over I am reminding myself of rule number one of living in a town this tiny - do not let anything anyone else thinks or says about you in.  Don't worry about people who have opinions about how you keep your yard, or if you put up enough Christmas lights, or why you are no longer friends with someone, or where you park your car.  Don't worry about it, try not to think about it, and just try to be courteous and live peacefully among it all.

That's all for now.  A better post is coming.  I promise.  Soon.  Well, soon-ish.

Really Stupid Meme

I haven't had time to write a post for ages, and I have no inspiration, so I decided to copy the first meme questionairre I could find and without reading it over, to copy it and fill it out.  So here it is.  It's really stupid:

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?

I should brush Z's teeth while she's peeing.

2. How much cash do you have on you?

180 bucks.

3. What’s a word that rhymes with DOOR?

Albacore.

4. Favorite planet?

I have never given this a second of consideration.  This will not change.

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?

I have never had a cell phone.

6. What is your favorite ring tone on your phone?

Good grief.

7. What shirt are you wearing?

A white T-shirt that I have never seen before but surfaced in my laundry basket when I was looking for a T-shirt.  It is, clearly, the Laundry Basket of Requirement.

8. Do you label yourself?

WTF?

9. Name the brand of the shoes you’re currently wearing?

My feet are unadorned.

10. Bright or Dark Room?

Bright in day, dark at night.  What a stupid question.

11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you?

I did not get it from another person.

12. What does your watch look like?

Silver, Anne Klein.  Pretty.  I'd rather have a large, silver man's watch because, clearly, cooler.

13. What were you doing at midnight last night?

I was asleep.

14. What did your last text message you received on your cell say?

Was this meme written by a cell phone company?

15. Where is your nearest 7-11?

About an hour's drive away.

16. What's a word that you say a lot?

"Clearly", clearly.

17. Who told you he/she loved you last?

J.

18. Last furry thing you touched?

A toy.

19. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?

I have taken much ibuprofen, as I have a migraine.

20. How many rolls of film do you need developed?

2001 called.  It wants this question back.

21. Favorite age you have been so far?

I do not play favourites with my own ages.

22. Your worst enemy?

There are so many...how could I ever pick just ONE?

23. What is your current desktop picture?

Kids.

24. What was the last thing you said to someone?

"Stop kicking the com-pillar!"

25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly what would it be?

Money.  No contest.

26. Do you like someone?

Like...or like like?

27. The last song you listened to?

"Tomorrow".  Performed by a three year old.

28. What time of day were you born?

Evening.

29. What’s your favorite number?

Why would anyone care?

30. Where did you live in 1987?

Victoria, BC.

31. Are you jealous of anyone?

I try not to be, but I sometimes am.

32. Is anyone jealous of you?

I think, probably, yes.  Maybe.

33. Where were you when 9/11 happened?

Langley, BC.

34. What do you do when vending machines steal your money?

Call the number and get my money back.  Not kidding.

35. Do you consider yourself kind?

Yes.  But I also consider myself mean.  Work that out.

36. If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be?

Never.

37. If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?

French.  It's such a beautiful sound.

38. Would you move for the person you loved?

We have moved many times, and always after discussion about what is best for all of us.

39. Are you touchy feely?

Can be.

40. What’s your life motto?

As long as it's funny.

41. Name three things that you have on you at all times?

Wedding rings and watch.  Except when I don't.

42. What’s your favourite town/city?

I love many.

43. What was the last thing you paid for with cash?

My grocery cart.

44. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it?

2001.  But I just GOT a letter.

45. Can you change the oil on a car?

No I cannot.

46. Your first love: what is the last thing you heard about him/her?

That he is as much of a loser as I remembered.

47. How far back do you know about your ancestry?

On one side, very far back.

48. The last time you dressed fancy, what did you wear and why did you dress fancy?

I wear fancy costumes all the time, for work.

49. Does anything hurt on your body right now?

Jeezus - all of it.

50. Have you been burned by love?

I am in my 40s, so yes.  

In Praise of Not Having it All

Infertility sucks.  No two ways about that.  Being unable to conceive when you want to conceive is a nightmare.  But now that I have been on so many sides of this parenting thing - a non-mom, a woman suffering from infertility, a pregnant woman, and now a mom, I have had a little something to say turning over in my mind for some time now.  So I think I'll say it here.  On my blog.  I want to say this right, without sounding in any way patronizing or ungrateful or anything negative.

I want to lay some praise down on those who live, by choice or by providence, in a state of non-parenthood.

A couple of posts ago I wrote about the difficulty I have had adjusting to the negative associations society makes with motherhood.  But I have also been in this other place - the place of being an aging woman without kids.  And society does a whole different number on that demographic.

I believe we still, even in this amazing time of freedom to make our lives look how we want them to look, expect that someday everyone will break down and have a kid or some kids.  We look at people who are off living marvelous, adventurous adult lives and we say: "That's great. Get it all in before the kids come and shackle you down."  We hardly ever say: "Cool, they're having a great life without kids.  Good choice."

I'm guilty.  Years ago, when I was in my 20s, I had a really good friend who was a few years older than I.  She was in her late 20s and she knew she never wanted to be a mom.  She was married.  She told me how she, a few times, had booked appointments to consult about having her tubes tied.  Every doctor refused to perform such a drastic operation on such a young woman.  One doctor said: "But what if your husband wants children one day?"  She replied: "I don't ever want kids.  Neither does he.  But if he suddenly changes his mind he'll have to go find another woman to do it with."  She was still denied the procedure.  When she told me her desire to render herself infertile I also said: "But what if you change your mind one day?"  I found it hard to believe she could be so resolute at such a young age.  When she turned 30 my friend went to a new doctor, explained her position, and the doctor said: "Well, you're 30.  You're a grown woman.  Let's do it."  And they did.  And she has never regretted or questioned her choice to close up shop.  Motherhood never interested her in the slightest.

I also have friends who always assumed they would be moms one day, but all kinds of circumstances made it not happen.  One woman tried to conceive for 15 years.  She tried the less invasive fertility treatments, she tried the holistic approach, she looked into adoption.  And then one day she was done.  She was sick of the whole roller coaster and so she got off the ride and decided to accept and love her life as it was, and is.  Another friend, nearing 40, realized she had devoted herself to her career and hadn't had kids.  She had always, always imagined she would be a mom one day.  And just when she had made the huge decision to go for it and get herself some fertility treatments her career took off in a profound and deeply fulfilling way and she went with that instead.  She cancelled the treatments and trusted the amazing path that life was throwing at her.

One of the hardest parts for me about being an aging woman without kids was the things people would say to me. When my body was shot full of hormones in preparation for our first IVF attempt I was having to endure these questions:

"So, you decided not to have a family, eh?'

"Why didn't you ever have kids?"

"Are you guys going to have kids?  You're running out of time!"

The few times I opened up and admitted J and I had been struggling with infertility I got some interesting responses.  Here's a sampling:

"Wow.  I got pregnant the first time we tried!" (Great.  Good for you.  Thanks for letting me know.  That was SUPER nice of you.)

"You can have one of mine!" (Hilarious.  You should get into stand up.  I'm laughing so hard right now I might punch you in the face.)

"Have you ever thought about adoption?" (Wow.  Adoption....  I just told you I have been trying to have a baby for six years and you think, you honestly f*cking THINK, adoption has never occurred to me?  Oh, and by the way, we no longer live in the decades when young women were shamed into giving away their babies, so adoption is not as easy as you assume.  And nowadays things like foreign and/or private adoption take a massive bank account.  Or, if you think you can do it, you can adopt a child who is handicapped, or emotionally troubled, and the people who do adopt these beautiful children are freaking heroes but I don't want that.  I am not a bad person for not wanting that.  I am honest about it.  I have a desire to have my own baby.  That's it.  And besides, adoption comes with restrictions and most agencies would consider me too old and too low income, so... please feel free to stuff your question up your... well, you know.)

People are often casually insensitive about fertility issues.

One day, when I was in my late 30s and still trying to conceive, a woman at work walked into the full staff room and asked to the room in general:  "How old is too old to be a mother?"  And the whole room started weighing in with their opinions.  It was generally agreed that if you are over 38 and you try to get pregnant you are a selfish asshole.  That was a fun day.

A woman who knew full well I was trying and failing and brokenhearted decided to make her screen saver her sister's ultrasound image and whenever she had a chance she would squeal with delight and swivel her computer so I could see it and then give me updates on the pregnancy.  Also fun. 

I know a woman who was unable to conceive who one day came home to find that one of her neighbours, upon hearing the infertility story, had run out and purchased a stone angel and placed it on my friend's doorstep.  In a bizarre attempt to "comfort" this poor, barren soul, this neighbour had actually dared to express her misguided pity with a surrogate baby in form of stone doorstop.  What comfort did this neighbour possibly imagine this might provide?Unbelievable insensitivity.  Although the angel is, apparently, a pretty good doorstop.

After six years of infertility I chose a stock response whenever anyone asked me about my childless state: "I believe reproduction is a personal matter." And I really do.  It's none of your damn business why I do or do not have kids.

So now here I am, at the other end of my fertility adventure.  I have my beautiful twins and I am in love with them.  But I also miss the hell out of being a non-mom.  SURPRISE!  Did not really see that coming.

Now I look at the non-moms in my realm and I appreciate so much what they have, and what they do.

My non-mom friends have a personal freedom I can now only fantasize about.  They go to the pub... whenever they feel like it!  They go to work without a thought about who is minding the kids while they are away.  They go on trips and watch grown up shows at any time of the day.  They have breakables on low shelves and cream coloured furniture.  They live rich, full, happy lives.

Some of these non-mom women are surprised to find themselves over 40 and childless. Some are childless by choice.  Some tried hard, but it did not happen.  These women, I'm sure, are sick to death of the questions: "Why didn't you have kids?"  "Are you going to have kids?" "I guess you couldn't have kids, eh?"  They know, of course, that people ponder their childless state behind their backs.  The gossip ladies in our Town certainly will have had the: "Well, I heard she really wanted kids but...." conversations.  But I try never to mention their childless state.  If they want to talk to me about it, I'm all ears.  But I will never, ever look at them as women who missed out.  Being a non-mom is cool, wonderful and brave, no matter what path got you there.

As an over 40 woman I want to really, honestly, honour the choices and paths my peers have taken.  Non-moms have great lives, careers, adventures.  Sometimes they even babysit for me and I totally get the speedy manner in which they get the hell out of my house when their shift is over and they can go back to their own houses where toys are not the new decor and they can have beautiful, breakable objects right down low because no little hands are going to smash up their stuff.  Non-moms have no obligation whatsoever to help me out with my kids.  My kids were my own choice.  But they often do help.  Cool women.

So, not sure if I've managed to say what I set out to say at the onset of this post, but what I want you non-moms to know is, you're cool.  And in the same way that I am blessed to have a life full of Wonder Pets and stuffed dogs and bums to wipe you are blessed to have lives full of freedom and breakables and stairs without gates.  Non-mom on, sisters.  You have my full support.

10 Years Old

The 22nd of August is my 10th wedding anniversary.  J and I are 10 years old!  We have been together for 12 years, and we have known each other for 14 years.

When J came to work at the Site in 1998 I instantly liked him.  He is that kind of guy.  He is unfailingly personable.  This is such a fortunate quality.  He genuinely cares that other people feel happy and comfortable and appreciated.  He lacks the tough shell that I have, and it makes him very beautiful and very hard to resist.

14 years ago, when I first encountered the man I did not know I would marry, I found him sweet, charming and kind of goofy in his earnestness.  14 years ago J was a beautiful boy with inspirational tattoos and a penchant for white, flowing, poofy shirts.  I heard him sing in a comedy show one night, and discovered that he has a heartbreaking voice.  Dude can sing.  When I sat next to him at the opening night of the Theatre Royal that season he told me how he had already been married and was in the process of divorcing, he had already  lived and studied in New York City.  I said: "You've packed a lot into 24 years!"  Little did I know, at that moment, that this is a guy who packs about a year's worth of experiences into every single week of his life.  This is a guy who has a kind of eager need to make sure he does not miss out on any adventure or crisis or opportunity.  This is a guy who wants to be liked, but never backs down from a challenge even if it means he might fail, or fall on his face.  This is a guy who grabs life.

14 years ago J went through a series of girlfriends at the Site before falling hard for someone unexpected - a tall, brilliant, kind of awkward girl who worked for a local historical society for the summer (let's call her A).  I barley noticed A that season, except that she seemed to be wound very tight.  She held her body in such a way that it appeared her muscles were always tense and ready for some unexpected attack.  She dressed like an artist and one night I heard her sing in the pub and she was really good and charming.  And that surprised and delighted me.  She also had a one in a million smile.  Like Julia Roberts, you could forgive this girl for anything once she flashed that smile (although I'm not sure I can forgive Julia for "Eat, Pray, Love," but that's a story for another day).  A and J seemed to fall into quite a serious thing that season.

At the start of the next season, in 99, J returned to town but he and A had split over the winter and he was torn up about it.  A was somewhere else that season.  She didn't seem to be in town.  J, in his state of heartbreak, went through a quick series of flings and I got a kick out of watching him with a different girl (seemed like) every week.  And each of these girls, briefly, had his full attention.  He is not a jerk.  But he is a romantic. Then A came back to town.  She and J did not get back together right away, as he was with someone else, but they did become roommates.

That summer I was working on my first ever solo show that would premier at the Vancouver Fringe in September so I was MIA as far as being in the social loop that season.  I was obsessed with my show so I had no idea that J and a little group of our friends were dealing with something much bigger than building a show.

A was indisputably brilliant.  I didn't know it at the time, but she was so academically gifted she had already been accepted to Oxford.  The other thing I didn't know was that she, like many people blessed with a super brain, was plagued with mental illness.  She was haunted with thoughts of suicide.  One day that summer J came home unexpectedly to the apartment he was sharing with A and another friend (he had left work early) and walked right into a scene of A trying to take her own life.  J and A weathered a massively painful and dramatic evening, and then, after that night, they became a couple once again.  As it seemed they were meant to be.

Now, as I have mentioned before, the town we live in has a spectacular rumour mill.  But the small group of people who were involved with this event (neighbours, for example) all agreed to a pact of silence and stuck to it.  To this day I am amazed at the ethics and honour of these people.  A's suicide attempt was not reduced to ugly gossip.  It was honoured with love by her friends.  I still well up when I think about that.

In fact, A's friends were so careful with this secret that I knew nothing about it until the week she succeeded in killing herself.

It was  between seasons at the Site and I was working in an art supply store in the big city.  One day I looked up and saw one of my friends from our small town in the store.  I was thrilled!  He was thrilled.  We hadn't seen each other in months and here we were bumping into one another in my store.  We made arrangements to meet for drinks in a couple of days.

It was a Thursday when my friend and I went to a local bar for a few drinks.  Another friend who also spent his summers up here and winters in the city (as I did at that time) joined us as well.

We had only just settled down with our drinks when my friend from our Town said: "I talked to J last night and he had the worst possible news."  He made this statement so casually that I thought he was going to say that J wasn't coming back to work at the Site for the upcoming season.  But that's not what he said.  What he said was this:

"A killed herself on Tuesday night."

I remember putting my glass down, looking him in the eyes, and just saying: "What?"

I was sure I must have heard him wrong.

And at that moment I got the whole story of what had transpired the summer previous, how A had tried then, and failed, mostly because J arrived home sooner than expected.

I went to A`s funeral in the city.  J sang, and spoke, and was beautiful.  In retrospect, I may have suspected at A`s funeral that I would marry that guy one day.

I called J a few days later and we hung out a couple of times in the few weeks before we were to head back up here for the 2000 season.  And once we got here we basically became inseparable.

The 2000 season was also the season that my friend - the daughter of the people I worked for - was dying of cancer.  Our whole company was in a state of crazy high emotion as we helped the family get through a season where they were trying to keep shows up and running while at the same time guiding their daughter to the end of her life.  J and I came together in a moment of mutual crisis.  But, as I have come to understand, it is these moments in life - when you have just faced or are just facing the reality of death - when you truly cut the bullshit and just live.  That summer of 2000 was intense, brutal, sad and euphoric.  And it was all those things every single day.

J and I didn`t know where our relationship was headed, but we did know that it was something.

That winter J stayed here and I went back to the city and we traveled back and forth to see one another almost weekly.  And then in April of 2001 I moved here and moved in with him.

And on the 22nd of August, 2002, we got married here.  In the Community Hall.

During the course of our marriage we have had the usual amount of ups and downs, but I would argue that we have had more than the average number of adventures.  J has forced me out of my comfort zone over and over.  I think I have shown him a lot about resolve and I have been able to help him with follow through on projects and ideas.  We have had a very good record of having break downs at opposite times so that one of us is weak while the other is strong.

And we had two babies.  And now the babies have turned into kids.  And J and I have gone from a couple to a family.  We have grown up stuff now, like jobs and a mortgage.  But in almost every way else we are still the same two people we were 12 years ago when we first, in the midst of chaos, loss and a mind blowing Northern Lights show, decided to give it a go.  I still look at my J and see the wounded 26 year old in the poofy shirt, but now I also see years of life lived with a man I still love with everything I`ve got.  I also see a man who has yelled at me when I needed to snap out of my stuck place of fear, a man who has beamed proudly at me from the audience when I opened a new show, a man who has been my champion through thick and thin.  I look at J and I see friend, boyfriend, husband, actor, director, provider, partner, Daddy to my Mommy.  And every day I am so proud to be his wife.

Momdentity

In the place we live seasonal work drives the whole town.  Yes, there are a few people with full time, year round jobs.  But mostly, we work in the summer, when the Site is in full swing.

I choose to work in the summers.  I could stay home, because my husband makes a good living for us all. The extra money is really helpful, but it is not my main reason for working.   I work because the Theatre is one of the places my heart can sing, and one of the places my soul lives.  I work because it brings me joy, fulfillment, profundity.  I perform because it brings to my life moments of deep connection with others through the ritual of storytelling.  Those are the big reasons.  The other truth is I choose to work in the summers because, for three and a half months, I get to regain my sense of identity - the one the world loves to take away from me the moment I put on my mom face.

I had my twins when I was 42, almost 43.  I had 42 almost 43 years to establish who I am.  I have a very strong sense of me.  I went through all of my "finding myself" years.  I tried on personas and jobs and ideas that didn't fit quite right, or at all, and I altered and discarded and stripped away and added to and by the time I became a mom I was cooked and ready.  So, I was really unprepared for what happened to my identity when my kids were born.

I have achieved many things of which I am very, very proud.  I have written and produced and performed in shows.  I have shown my art in galleries, I have been published, I have an MA.  But the second I became someone's mom the outsider's view of me changed.  For all the lip service we pay, in our society, to honouring and cherishing mothers, the absolute reality is, as with most if not all female specific roles, it is really NOT honoured that much at all.

Let me give you a little exercise:

Imagine a woman walking along a sidewalk in your town pushing a double wide stroller.  One of her kids is acting up, she is desperately trying to take a sip of her latte, she is wearing exercise clothes, and she is kind of in your way.

You're already irritated by her, right?  She is a soccer mom , a stroller mom, a latte mom.  She doesn't have a job and she lives off her rich husband, and her kid is a brat and she is in your way.  You roll your eyes and shake your head a bit as you pass her.

Now imagine a man walking along a sidewalk in your town pushing a double wide stroller, trying to sip a latte, one kid acting up, exercise clothes, in your way.

You think he's cute, don't you?  He's got a fabulous job and he is taking some time away from it to be a parent - he is awesome and adorable and really, it's not that big a deal to step out of his way.  You probably smiled at him as you passed.  He is a great dad.

Don't even try to tell me you don't have these different reactions to parents depending on their gender.  Because I won't believe you.

The second I walk out with my kids anyone who does not know me sees this: she's a mom.  Everything else about me evaporates.

The woman who is watching my kids a few days a week this season is ridiculously accomplished.  She is also over 40 and has a toddler and a baby.  She and I have had some really wonderful bitch sessions about our struggles with how motherhood, for all of its wonders and joys, has also diminished us.  Of course, we are really not allowed to say that.  We are supposed to talk only of the profound ways becoming a mom has altered us and made us the ultimate versions of the female ideal.  But there is a big, giant, obvious truth that we are just not supposed to talk about -  becoming a mother has made some parts of our lives lesser than they were before.

So...what is the point of this post?  Stay with me.  I'll get there.

My wonderful friend who takes care of my kids a few days a week had to go away for a while last week.  Now, my Mother in Law is no longer able to fill in when we cannot find childcare (she has not completely recovered from the massive setback a July bladder infection brought on, and by her own admission, she should not be caring for the kids right now).  My husband had to be out of town on business the same time as my friend was away, and at this crazy busy time he cannot take time from work anyway.  And I am in shows, which means if I am not there, the shows do not happen.  So days off are not an option for me.  So what was I to do?

Here's what I did: I sent messages to two really awesome moms in town, explained the situation, and they stepped right up without hesitation.  One mom asked if I could watch her adorable baby boy one day while she worked in exchange for her watching my kids on one of the days I was desperate for childcare, and the other mom just took the girls for two days.  This is what being in the mom club means.  These awesome, accomplished, whip smart, razor sharp witted women did not even pause before agreeing to take my kids off my hands even though it meant a couple of exhausting days for all of us.  Moms get what other moms are all about.  Moms know that you can't leave your kids with just anyone, and moms step up.

So, let's return to that stroller mom you rolled your eyes at earlier.  Here's the deal:  she hasn't slept well in three years.  She is trying to sip that latte because it will keep her awake and because it is one of the few things she will do for herself today - buy herself a big ol' cup of caffeine.  The reason she is in workout clothes is because they are comfortable, and none of her pre-pregnancy stuff fits right anymore, and she kinda doesn't give a shit what she looks like right now.  The kid who is acting up is going through this phase where she freaks out in public because she likes how much it embarrasses her mom.  So her mom is ignoring it because this might be the one tactic that gets them both through this stage. You guessed that this mom is me, right?  Okay, good.

I have three weeks left in the season.  I have three weeks left of loving being an actor and loving chatting with people after the show about the show.  I have three weeks left before the coach turns back into a pumpkin.  And I will be happy when the season ends, because I miss my girls so much when I am at work.  But as I take my last bow of the season I will grieve a little for the person I get to be in the summer.  Because that version of me is a version I worked damn hard to get to.

So here it is...my point: the next time you are tempted to write someone off as a stroller mom, think of all the other things she is - and think of all the times she has stepped up for other moms like my friends do for me.  And if her big stroller is in your way, think about what a tiny thing it is to just move over a bit for her...without even rolling your damn eyes.

Check in again...

So, I guess it's time for another blog experiment check in.

I still enjoy blogging.  I love writing, and writing about little episodes in my life is still a challenge I look forward to.  I am getting a lot of editing practice as I have to go back several times to change the sentences that sounded right in my head but look wrong on the page.  I enjoy the false sense of importance that blogging affords.  Actually, that one is a bit confusing - does blogging make the obscures like me feel important, or does blogging prove that the obscures like me ARE important?  I'll leave that one to the internet scholars.

In my own life I am having to work hard at letting go of the feeling that every second of my day MUST be used productively.  The voices in my head (relax, I don't ACTUALLY hear voices - the metaphorical voices in my head) yell at me constantly about all the work that needs to be done.  If I take a few moments to myself I don't enjoy them because there are boxes to be unpacked, grant applications to write, weeds to whack, carpets to steam, etc. etc.  I am working on letting myself relax.

I do love the summer season.  Years ago the summer seasons were about relentless socializing, having a blast at work and then having a blast after work.  Now that we live here permanently the season is more like my explosive creative time when I get to perform daily and miss my kids in the process, then I come home to be with the kids and miss the theatre.

Despite the odd pressures of my life:  my MIL and her worsening condition, the amount of work that needs to be done around the house, the stress J is under all the time, I always am aware that it's a very good life I have.

So where does blogging fit in?  Well, I suppose I find it a challenge to express to the world what I think is a particular gift of mine - the ability to find beauty in the mundane and to seek profundity in everything that happens to me.  I guess that is really what an artist does - finds beauty in the cracks and corners of life.  So for now, I'll keep it up.

Thanks for reading.

The Show Must Go On (except for Mondays)

Here is something about being a performer that I can say for sure: that old saying "the show must go on" is like a religion to we who make our living as entertainers.  The voice in our souls that demands we be there, on that stage, at that moment, is as powerful as the compulsion a doctor has to heal, a preacher has to preach.

I have been a professional performer for twenty-seven years.  Twenty-seven.  And I can still count on one hand the number of times I have had to cancel a performance.

For the past three years I have been performing solo shows at the Theatre at the Site.  And by solo, I mean, I am all by myself on stage.  So, if I can't do the show, there is no show.

In 2011 I had to cancel two shows.  I cancelled the first show the morning after I was in a car fire.  My car had started on fire, and before I could get the vehicle to safety I had inhaled much smoke.  Two paramedics advised me to cancel my solo show which I would've performed the next morning because, they informed me, smoke can have a delayed and damaging effect on the vocal cords.  As I rely on my voice to make my living, I conceded.  Later that same season I experienced a severe allergic reaction and developed contact dermatitis that caused unbearable itchiness and a rash so unsightly it was shocking.  I consulted with my producer and stage manager and they each advised me to cancel a show to seek medical attention.  I did so.  In 2012 (just last week in fact) I was forced to cancel a show  when my MIL was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance and I was her her sole means of support at the time as J was away and she doesn't have anyone else.  I had no choice, really.  Each time I've had to cancel a show I felt sick with guilt.  This just isn't what we do, we performers.  We perform through aches and pains and traumas and injuries.  We smile and sing and dig deep and do it.  It is sacred to us, this mantra "the show MUST go on."  I have seen actors doubled over in pain in the wings, and as soon as they hear their cue they are on that stage giving all they have.  I have seen performers get through a scene or a number, walk off stage, and collapse from sickness, or pain, or grief.

And what about those times when only one person - or a handful of people show up to see a show?  Well, the general rule of thumb for theatre is that a company has the option of cancelling a performance if the number of people in the audience will be fewer than the number of people on stage.  So, for a performer like me, who does much solo work, that pretty much means I only cancel if no-one shows.  I have performed my solo shows to houses packed to capacity and to tiny crowds of one, two, three patrons.  If only one person shows I ask that person if s/he is comfortable being the only audience member, and if so, I am happy to do the show.  It is often a very lovely experience, a small audience show.  I do them all the time.

Yesterday it was brought to my attention that a couple from a nearby town had come to the Site on a Monday, the only day I do not have scheduled performances.  And they showed up at the Theatre for my 11am show.  When they discovered there was no show they jumped to the baffling conclusion that the cast at the Theatre had decided to cancel shows that day because we didn't feel like doing them.  Not only did they walk all over the Site repeating this false and slanderous information, they then repeated it to anyone who would listen in their town, and then wrote a letter to the editor of the area's newspaper saying the same erroneous, insulting and out and out false claim.  The newspaper printed this letter without bothering to fact check with anyone from the Site, who could have cleared the situation up with a simple piece of information: "there is no 11 am show on Mondays."  In fact, in a odd twist, these interesting people quoted from our website and mentioned that there is no show on Mondays, yet neglected to mention that they turned up at the theatre ON A MONDAY.  Had they wished, they could have consulted the marquis that would have been a few feet from their faces while they were pounding on the doors of a clearly closed building and seen that our musical revue was to be performed at 1pm (which it was).

So I suppose this post is in defense of myself, but also of every performer who gets out there and gets the job done no matter what.  The show must, and does, go on.  If I cancelled a show every time I simply didn't feel up to it I would be cancelling shows left, right, and centre.  But I don't.  Ever.  Unless it seems like my only choice.

I love what I do, and in my line of work professional reputation is huge.  I hope those people who were slightly inconvenienced by their own inability to understand a schedule will think twice the next time they feel compelled to grossly overreact to a situation that was, in fact, of their own making, and to compromise the reputation of an entire company of dedicated and ridiculously hard working actors.  I could be a bigger person here and say I hope they come back and see my shows on a day that they are actually playing, but I'd really rather they didn't.  My shows mean the world to me, and I would rather people like these stayed far away from my sacred places.

July Crazies

I was just texting with my husband who is in Winnipeg opening a show he directed and I co-wrote.  He told me that he heard from a very mystical and hilariously wise acquaintance that July is the most tumultuous month.  I must agree.

Every July seems to bring with it the big old crazies of every manner - people, circumstances, weather.

Last July 17th I was driving home from work when I noticed smoke coming through my vents.  My car was on fire.  I made it home and then the local volunteer fire brigade spent a couple of hours in my back yard putting out the flames, cutting the wires, and generally making a massive, heroic mess of the place, and the car, while tourists and locals offered support and took pictures.  That same night a rogue tourist was seen trying to steal the same car.  By the time he decided to attempt this grand theft auto the car had a melted dash, a scorched and cracked windshield, cut wires and was flooded with water and that fire fighting foam that was now ashy grey muck.  Poor guy.  Talk about picking the wrong mark (he eventually gave up and ended up stealing a different vehicle and after a joyride he ditched the stolen truck in the local lake).  J was out of town at the time, so I had to deal with the whole fire situation, plus the kids, by myself.  I called my boss at the Theatre to cancel my solo show for the next morning (the 18th) as I had been advised that the amount of smoke I had inhaled might make me hoarse.

Yesterday, July 17th, the one year anniversary of the car fire, started out so well.  I had a great morning show.  I was conserving energy because, as an experiment, I had decided to offer both of my solo shows to whomever from the Site wanted to attend (it can be hard for people to make it to other performers' shows as we are all so intensely engaged in our own schedules, so I decided to offer evening shows just to let anyone who might want to see them, see them).

We had a company meeting scheduled for five o'clock, so I had asked MIL earlier if she could watch the girls while I went out to the Site for about three hours for meeting and shows.  Although I am not entirely comfortable with her watching the girls, she loves to do it, the girls love her, and as long as I set firm ground rules it usually goes well save for the inevitable mess I have waiting for me when I get home.

So, yesterday afternoon I reminded MIL that she was to watch the girls in two hours.  About an hour later she came up the stairs in a T-shirt style night gown.  She seemed to be in a cheerful mood and told me a story about the neighbour's dog chewing up a cell phone.  I said I had made some pork curry, and advised her to feed it to the girls in about an hour.  She agreed.  About a minute later she looked at me and asked: "have they eaten dinner?"  I said that we'd just talked about this.  Then she told me a story about the neighbour's dog chewing up a cell phone.  Hmmmm.

MIL has dementia, but at this point she has lots of really good days interspersed with some horrible rage and depression episodes.  This had seemed like a good day, but now I wasn't so sure.

I asked her how she was feeling and she said: "woozy".  She said she didn't think she should watch the girls.  She has NEVER said this before.

I tried to call my fabulous friend who watches the girls a few times a week to see if she could pinch hit, but she wasn't available.  I called a local girl and asked if she could come right over to babysit.  She could.  I suggested to MIL that she go downstairs and go to sleep.  It has been very hot here, so I assumed she had taken too much sun.

I raced out to the Site.  In the midst of the company meeting the phone rang and it was the above mentioned fab friend who very calmly told me that MIL had gone over to the store (local hang out, right next door to our place) and said she wasn't feeling right.  They called 911.  It was too late to cancel the shows...or was it?  I could hear people rattling the theatre doors as I stood on stage and called the hospital.  MIL was still in the ambulance, so I explained that she was on her way, that she was heavily medicated, that I didn't know if she's taken her proper doses for the day, etc. etc.  I called back a bit later and was able to talk to MIL who was now in the waiting room.  She was teary, confused, complaining of backache and stress.  I somehow got through the show, but this is a show I know very well, so I basically did the performance while thinking about what to do next.

After the show I told the lovely folks who'd shown up (it was sweltering and there was a competing concert, so a modest but lovely little group) that I had to get in to the hospital.  I asked my dear friend who was running the lights to let the people who had come for the second show to know that I just couldn't do it at that time.

I went to the dressing room and called the hospital.  The man said that she had been discharged and was waiting for me.  I explained that MIL has dementia, that it would take me the better part of two hours to get home and arrange it all and then get to town, and asked him to make sure she was not abandoned in the waiting  room.  I raced home, and on the way saw the ambulance attendants pulling into the ambulance station.  I stopped and asked them what was happening.  Of course, due to confidentiality they could only hint about it, but one of them said I'd be wise to make sure I told the hospital "my side of the story."  Once again: hmmmmm.

You see...it seems that with MIL's particular kind of dementia there must one one big villain character in her personal movie.  It used to be her ex, then it was her ex-tenant, and now it is very much ME.  I am, in her mind, the worst person who has ever existed.  For the past two years I have helped her deal with her massive financial mess.  I have started the process of getting her help for her mental health.  I have fielded phone call after phone call from her ex, from people who are suing her, from people who are charging her with assault, but all she can see is that I am short with her for destroying the house ("who CARES if it's messy?" she pleads, incredulously, as I beg her to just TRY to stop letting her dog poo and pee in the house, and I beg her not to disassemble any more major appliances which she cannot put back together again).  And she demonizes me daily to anyone who will listen.  Now, I concede that we are not one big happy, but when we bought this place we were very clear and all agreed that J and I needed our own personal space and that we would respect her privacy if she respected ours back.  But as soon as she moved in she was offended if we had a dinner or watched a film without her, and would have an adolescent-like snit wherein she would play wounded and confused by the mean girl upstairs.  It's been brutal.  Brutal.  And I also concede that I have lost my patience with her on more than one occasion, but this is usually when she has done something so amazingly bizarre to me that I just can't believe it.  So I could see that she had clearly trashed me to the ambulance attendants, both of whom are friends of mine.  I felt sick.

I raced home and explained to the teenage sitter that she would have to walk home (all of five minutes) as I had to deal with an emergency ("But it's SO hot!") Mrrrrr.

I called my fab friend to see if she could come over and stay with the girls while I ran into town but unbeknownst to both of us her little two year old had turned off the ringer on the phone so she didn't get the message until I'd already got the girls and MIL's dog in the car and headed off.

When I got to the hospital the staff was overly cheerful and I knew right away that they had been treated to a few hours of horror stories about me.  Oh joy.

I chatted with the doctor, explained the situation, and he told me that MIL has a bladder infection and any infection will cause extremes in dementia episodes.  He gave me a prescription.  As it was now dark, the kids were hyper I decided I should rent us all a room for the night.  One of the nurses called a nearby place to see if they took pets, and off we went to a nice hotel where I called my producer to ask permission to cancel my morning show just like last year's July 18th show (insert ominous chord).

This morning MIL and I had a very long talk about her continued need to villainize me.  I accepted the places where I am culpable, and I reinforced what I have always told her: that she is a very good grandmother.  She is.  I think, and hope, that we made a little progress.

We had a nice day in town shopping, although it was funny to see MIL walking around in her night gown (we had no changes of clothes with us).

On our drive home we noticed an ambulance and rows of cars facing in either direction on the highway.  I hoped it wasn't something to do with one of my friends.  This highway is travelled by either tourists or someone we know.  As we got closer we could see a tiny black bear cub lying on the road.  It had clearly been hit by a car, but was still alive and in distress.  People were bringing the little animal water in bottles, and a whole brigade was focused on helping.  It was a lovely, heartbreaking, and completely crazy thing to see.

So it seems July really is the oddest month.

Hey July. Wtf is up with you?